by J A Bouma
Sasha stopped the video file after the picture panned back out of the cave toward the dawning Patmos landscape where Alexander would return to the present. He promptly made a physical backup on his encrypted server and then another digital one in the cloud to make sure nothing happened to the file.
“Now what?” Alexander asked as Sasha was working away.
“What do you mean, now what?”
“I mean, so I retrieved this experience from the early Church. Now what? What are we going to do with it?” He looked to Father Jim for direction.
“Well, don’t look at me. This certainly isn’t my area of expertise. When we chatted about this with the Order, I think they had in mind some sort of way to dispense and disperse the video feed to the Church around the world. Can we do something like that, Sasha?” He turned to his old student who was sitting back amused.
“You people are so funny. Of course Sasha can be dispensing and dispersing what you retrieved, Alex. I’ve already created an encrypted shell site in a hidden node on DiviNet where Christians can access the raw file of Alexander’s experience.”
“What’s he saying?” Father Jim whispered to Alex.
“Father, I’m saying I created a website for people to watch the video. I’ll email you the protocol information. It’s a series of numbers that—”
“Whatever, Sasha. I can barely order myself one of those otherworldly espresso drinks from that bloody Americana coffee place. You think I know what you’re talking about? Thank you, my boy. I trust you’ll make all the arrangements.”
Sasha huffed and attended back to his workstation.
“Father, I should be getting back to my parish,” Alexander said. “I’m worried about Zakaria’s news. I’m worried about Zakaria. He’s not good alone under pressure. In fact, I hope I still have a parish left at all!”
Father Jim laughed. “I’m sure he was fine. You know, once upon a time you were once as skittish and inept as he is.”
“Yes, but I did it with flare.”
He laughed again and embraced his favorite student. “Great to see you again, Alex. But don’t get too comfortable. Remember, this was only a trial run.”
“Yeah, little bunny rabbit,” Sasha said, hidden behind his screen. “I’ve got big plans for you. More tests!”
“What do you mean, Padre? I didn’t agree to more trips.”
“Yes, you did!” Father Jim protested.
“Oh no, I didn’t!” Alex protested back. “I agreed to go test this thing. I was clear it was a one-time deal, a trial run. I’m glad it worked and I’m glad I retrieved what I did for the sake of the Church. I’m glad I could experience what I did and hope it helps. But once was more than enough for me.”
“I don’t understand. I thought you’d be chomping at the bit to return to the past. To visit all of the fathers of our faith—Irenaeus and Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Martin Luther and John Calvin, even Jesus Christ himself!”
“Pretty sure once was enough for me.”
“This is mad,” Father Jim mumbled in a huff, shaking his head and folding his arms.
Alexander took a breath, irritated with how hard the cardinal was pressing and flushing with anger.
Why couldn’t the man understand what he was asking of him? Why couldn’t he understand that this was not his fight—that he was not built for this fight? It wasn’t his choice to get involved in this blasted scheme in the first place; he was dragged into it. And now he was being asked to lead the charge on the front lines against the principalities and powers of this world that were way beyond his league in order to save the Church from doom and destruction?
No, he wasn’t mad. Father Jim was!
But then a twinge of guilt began snaking its way up his spine. Not only for letting the man down by throwing away an opportunity, as he framed it—the one person above his own father he tried to please more than any other. But also for letting his courage wilt in the face of fighting for the Church, for the faith of Ichthus.
“Padre, you no one knows what that thing does to you when you’re traveling” he tried to reason. “No one knows what it will do with more traveling, flipping back and forth between phases. I’d like to keep my atoms intact, thank you very much. And besides, my church needs me right—”
“Ichthus needs you more, Alex!” Father Jim exclaimed, cutting him off and echoing off the walls, drawing a concerned look from Sasha. “Alex, there’s plenty more to retrieve.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to do it without me.” He turned to leave, but Father Jim gently grabbed his arm.
“Think about your parish, Alex. Think about Zakaria. Think about Father Abasi. Think about your father!”
“My father is dead!” Alex shouted angrily, spinning around to face his former professor. “The Church killed him. And you did nothing to stop it!”
The lab quieted down to nothing but the hum of Sasha’s mainframe. He sat still behind his monitor, peeking out around the corner to find Alexander and Father Jim squared off a meter away.
Father Jim took a step back and closed his mouth. Alexander opened his in shock.
“I’m sorry, Padre. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. I…I.” He stopped, trying to find words. “I better go.”
Alexander rushed out of the laboratory and swung open the door to Sasha’s office, leaving it gapping open as he fled down the hallway, heartbroken at his accusation. He burst through the doors out onto the sweltering Kiev streets in search of a cab that would take him back home.
Chapter 22
While Alexander waited, he searched for a ribbon of relief that would shut the world out for just a few minutes. But he came up empty. He’d lost his treasure box.
He cursed under his breath as he flagged down a lumbering cabbie. He hopped in and gave him instructions for Kiev International Station.
The journey was stop and go as the city came alive during the twilight hours. Alexander stared at the lights bouncing off the Dnieper from the cars crossing the other side and the surrounding city. He thought back a year ago to when it all started with his father, Martin Zarruq IX, named after a long line of Zarruqs inspired by the famed Protestant Reformer, Martin Luther.
A few years ago, advances in science that definitively claimed to disprove the creation accounts of Genesis and a historical, ancestral Adam began to nibble at his father’s inner spiritual core. On top of these advancements, shifts in the culture toward ultramodernism cast doubt on the exclusivity of the Christian faith as the only path to God.
Across the Atlantic in Americana, several popular Christian leaders began promoting a so-called ultramodern Christianity. In many ways, it was a precursor to the newest developments with Panligo. These leaders, mostly within Protestant Orthodoxy and fringe wings of Evangelical Orthodoxy encouraged the Church to embrace the great abundance of truths available in our hyper-connected, hyper-informed world by harnessing the spiritual truths of the world’s religions. The Reckoning had sought to foster such hyper-tolerance anyway, and Martin Zarruq fell victim to the enticing powers of the day that sought to accommodate the Christian faith to the agenda of culture. Friendships blossomed and deepened with these thinkers from across the pond, which led to some eyebrows being raised within the Ministerium.
Given Father Martin’s power as a Cardinal of Evangelical Orthodoxy and a member of both the Fidelium and Chief Council within the Ministerium, he was summoned to a meeting to determine where his theological persuasions had begun to bend. It was initially supposed to have been an informal meeting, but it quickly spun into a mess of accusations being hurled between Martin, his supporters, and those inquiring of Martin Zarruq—which Father James Ferraro did nothing about. When Father Martin dug his heels in to defend his own leanings and urged the Ministerium to follow suit, threats of excommunication ensued. Martin Zarruq would have none of it and stormed out, along with his supporters.
Given his own deep friendship with his father, Alexander never could understand why Father Ferraro did nothing to
quell the rising tide within the Ministerium prelates urging the excommunication of Father Martin and stripping him of his ecclesiastical posts and ordination credentials. The two had gone back years, to their days at Oxford training to be priests before taking up their posts back home in Tripolitania and Britannia. Father Jim had been the best man in his father’s wedding even though he remained celibate. The man had even agreed to be godfather to Martin’s son. And he seemed to do nothing to stop it, just as Alexander had voiced.
The Ministerium plowed forward, wanting to send a message to the global body of clergy who might follow his same path and take an entire church with them. Many were reluctant, given Father Martin’s stature and power. But after several hours of impassioned discussion, the members finally relented to the recommendation of the Fidelium to the Ministerium: They stripped Alexander’s father of all his ecclesiastical duties and authority. All while Father Jim remained silent through it all.
At first, little changed. Father Martin defied the orders to cease and desist all ecclesiastical work by stepping down from his post as regional bishop over Tripolitania. He continued traveling and preaching for several Sundays, even as local parish pastors nervously stood between him and the Ministerium. Father Jim had been in touch with Alexander as the events unfolded to explain his position and urge him to intervene with his father. While Alexander understood where the Ministerium was coming from, he couldn’t understand why Father Jim had refused to assist in staying their hand on behalf of his friend.
One Sunday morning, a delegation from the Ministerium met Father Martin at a church he was serving as a visiting preacher. After attempting to reason with him to step down and leave, they had him forcibly removed. The experience was jarring for the local church and the regional one. It was also humiliating for Father Martin, who was also forced to hand over his official vestments and vacate his Church-provided living quarters. The delegation brought him to Alexander, who was a year into his parish post in Tripolitania, and who had been serving under the direction of his father.
The next morning, after Alexander returned from his morning prayers, there was a uniformed officer with the local Solterra criminal defense force waiting for him bearing grim news. His father had been observed jumping from a bridge into a local river that had been nicknamed Suicide Gorge for the popular destination of people over the years who had taken their lives. A drained bottle of alcohol and the bishop’s Bible, name scrawled on the dedication page, were left behind. To make the identification absolute, the inside flap held an old photograph of his deceased mother holding a grade-school-age Alexander on her lap.
Martin Zarruq’s body had never been recovered, most weren’t from Suicide Gorge because of the fast-moving currents. And while Alexander initially refused to believe the report—positively couldn’t come to grips with the report—the coming days without word from the man, combined with the evidence left behind proved the news true.
His father had killed himself.
Alexander had blamed his death on the Church’s attack, with all of the Ministerium’s finger-pointing and accusations thrown at a man who had faithfully given himself to serving Christ’s flock for decades. It took special care and attention from Father Jim to keep him from abandoning the priesthood entirely—and his faith. He eventually reconciled himself to the Ministerium’s actions—and his father’s suicide—but there were times when a seed of bitterness tucked away inside his heart reared its head unexpectedly.
Like it had with Father Jim in Sasha’s study. Like it was on his way back home.
The Ministerium is at it again. On a heresy hunt to guard and save the Church, just like with my father.
Who was next? Father Abasi? While Alexander didn’t so much mind Apollos being in the Ministerium’s crosshairs, he still cared deeply about Josiah, wondering what had happened to him and what he was thinking.
The taxi arrived back at Kiev International Station. He sighed with relief at the interruption from the cauldron of memories swirling through his mind. It was time he left them behind and got back to his work in Tripolitania, however dull and uneventful it was.
The journey home was fraught with anxiety.
He worried he had damaged his relationship with Father Jim. He worried about the rumors of an impending bombing. He worried about his parish, and whether he and his people would be swept up in the persecution marching across North Alkebulana. He worried about Father Abasi, still disbelieving his dear friend Josiah would jettison the faith he had served for so long. He feared Panligo and Apollos and Cardinal Weiss, and the plans they had set in motion. The two-hour magnarail and one-hour deep submergence vehicle ride did nothing to quell his worries.
When he finally arrived on the mainland at Tripoli International Port, a wave of relief and comfort washed over him. Perhaps it was the salted hot, steamy evening air. Perhaps the dry, dusty Libyan streets underneath his sandals. Perhaps the stability that came from being home. Regardless, Alexander smiled in a way he hadn’t since Tara had come calling a few days ago.
Could it have been only that long ago? It seemed like a lifetime ago. In some ways, it was over two hundred lifetimes ago, given all of his time travels. He shook his head and chuckled at the absurdity of the past few days’ events as he ran over to a bus bound for his hometown.
The magnacraft made the 120 kilometer trek in less than two hours, giving Alexander an excuse to sleep once more. He was jolted awake as it rolled into town. In the distance, he spotted his parish steeple peeking up into the sky through the ancient sycamore trees that surrounded the property.
Home…
Alexander smiled. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then exhaled with relief knowing he had put the Ministerium nonsense behind him.
The walk was a short fifteen minutes, a welcomed relief after over five hours of travel. He smiled as he sauntered back home, taking in his surroundings and watching the sun dip across the hardened horizon. Surprisingly, there was little traffic and not too many people around, an oddity for early evenings in his town.
Around this time of day, the locals came home from work and began reveling in the streets. Every so often he would play designated driver as a way to minister to his community. There was always a mixed reaction of disbelief, confusion, and appreciation when they opened the door to find Father Zarruq, the local Christian bishop, at the wheel ready to drive intoxicated young people, and not so young people, back home. He smiled as he thought about his last experience driving a group of young and older women home out on the town for one woman’s bachelorette party. He had to strain to keep his hands on the wheel and fight off the cougars in the back trying to draw him into their bachelorette fun. As he walked, he wondered where everyone had gone so early, but also relished the peace and quiet after a crazy few days.
He made his way up the path toward his beloved community, the church visible just up ahead. As he turned the corner around a bend near his parish, he ran into a figure bounding down the path.
They both toppled over each other, ending in a contorted pile at the base of the path.
“Sorry about that, brother. I didn’t see you,” Alexander said as he stood.
He reached out to help the person he had run into, wondering if it was one of his parishioners.
The person grabbed his hand for assistance to stand. A tattoo flashed from underneath their long black robe: two intersecting lines like a cross, bent at each end—almost like a bird, with a head and feet and wings. He also noticed that the person’s hands were more feminine, though the face was masked by the shadows of a hood.
“Thanks,” the person simply grunted before continuing on their way.
Alexander dusted himself off and eyed the mystery figure as they raced away with purpose. He turned back to continue up the path toward—
BOOM!
An explosion shattered the tranquil early evening, throwing Alexander back down the pathway.
He landed hard on his back, the blast knocking the wind out of
him and a small rock jamming into his right kidney.
He searched for air, heaving to find much needed oxygen. As he struggled to catch his breath, a cloud of dust rushed down through the entrance to his beloved parish grounds and down the path, consuming Alexander in a mawing echo of pure, unadulterated evil.
Through the brown haze, the early evening sun silhouetted the roof of his parish’s Great Hall, the bell-tower visibly blown off. A gaping wound in its roof cried for relief as it began to crumble in on itself and down into the belly of the church.
Alexander struggled to find breath, coughing in fits and starts as the haze of Hades settled around him. He lifted his head to find large plumes of thick black smoke billowing into the dusk sky, fingers of flickering flames consuming his precious parish.
And consuming his precious parishioners.
There was no denying it now: The fight for the Christian faith had come home.
Continue Reading Season 1 . . .
You’ve just finished episode 1 in the religious sci-fi apocalyptic thriller Ichthus Chronicles Season 1, the first book in the four-episode series, Apostasy Rising.
Think of it like your favorite Netflix, HBO, or Hulu show, where the story unfolds in installments. Each book can be read as a complete story with a beginning, middle, and end—but it ends on a cliffhanger that naturally flows into the next episode, fitting within a larger four-part tale.
Continue binge-reading the adventure by diving into the next episode now! Read a sneak-preview chapter of episode 2 on the next page. Pre-order or buy on Amazon today:
APOSTASY RISING • Season 1
Episode 1 (Available Now)
Episode 2 (Oct 1, 2019)
Episode 3 (Nov 1, 2019)